Up from smolder, smoke sits knitting its braid in the dark.
Tuck the tip into your locket, curled and frayed in dark.
I took sad receipt of your last letter, a scratch of ink
and ash borne on the edge of a spade in the dark.
Bury the memory in your little black dress. One bite
of bourbon and dirge becomes serenade in the dark.
Sarah J Sloat, Citron Review
It sat downstairs on the air hockey table,
its shedding needled branches, its copper wire arms.
With care, our mother draped its false twigs in silver
garlands, two for a dollar on the clearance rack,
and the ornaments–her mother’s, long dead–
we cradled in our palms like baby Jesus might have
been held, our non-savior swathed in hay in the barn-crib, safe
Leila Chatti, Linebreak
I’ve spent a whole lifetime
trying to explain what homesickness feels like
inside my body, but when I open my mouth
I say your name.
Hannah Nahar , One Sentence Poems
This hit me right in the gut – it’s so rare as a third-culture kid to find someone who can put into words what you’ve been feeling your whole life..amazing.
I like the kind of rain
that upsets people
postpones the softball game
stops traffic and the radio
I am the man
Salvation Army shoes
straightening cigarette butts
in front of the laundry mat
personal Jesus t-shirt
Scott Nolan, Puritan Magazine
Let us take the river
path near Fall Hill.
There we will negotiate
an outcrop with its silvered
initials & other bits of graffiti,
all the way to the broken edge
that overlooks the bend,
& hold hands until
we can no longer tell
where the river ends.
-Jon Pineda, via Poets.org
Will we breathe
to bleed song—
Will you still
learn this dance?
This is me
self. To stand
on the thin
ends of my
and fool my-
Marlin M. Jenkins, Puritan Magazine
upon his execution by bolt gun at the Copenhagen Zoo
Because, they said, genetics. Et
when the steel bolt retracts, the giraffe’s
in on itself like a cup, blood
from the heart circulates ‘still
in the edible flesh. He felt,
we are told, nothing. Not
the bolt’s cold lobotomy. Not
Not his slack body hauled
to the stage. The Danes
—babies in the arms of their mothers, in one
photograph a dad with his son—have come
hungry to the zoo’s cruel—
they call it—lesson. The lions
beside the stage circle.
Lana Del Rey’s “Old Money” + Yong Pal is an inspired combination. Gorgeous.
Taken by Dee Henderson
The story of a man without a personality who falls in love with an emotionally vulnerable woman 15 years younger than him as they wander around the country opening safety deposit boxes and finding nothing in particular.
If you thought that was tongue-in-cheek, you’re wrong.
My Christian fiction adventures continue!
*PSA: I love Dee Henderson. But her latest books are rubbish of the first order.